


A rich slab of beef

by ARMEN15



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arya's List, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Confused Jaime, Crude Bronn, F/M, Faceless Arya Stark, First Time, House Lannister, House Stark, I know It Is impossible but Jaime looked too much at the girl, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Arya Stark, POV Jaime Lannister, Red Wedding, Revenge, The Faceless Men, The wine girl, Troubled!Jaime, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24699901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: PART THREE IS WHITE HORSEPART TWO IS I WANTED TO BE A KNIGHTAn AU from se6 ep10, the Frey hosts the Lannisters and a certain girl locks gaze with an (in)famous knight.The title is from Bronn's quote when the wine girl approaches the Lannisters.Let's face it, Jaime speaks volumes with his eyes and Arya's true gems shine through the mask.
Relationships: Bronn & Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Arya Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142





	1. A Rich slab of beef

**Author's Note:**

> When you watch the last part of ep 10 too much and in a FB Group a discussion starts about Arya using faces...this is the result.

To be forced to stay the night at the stinking mouse hole home of the Freys is a nightmare, because it is impossible to leave after the feast, to wake up all the men, drunken or not, and Bronn is nowhere to be find, probably fucking both the girls he got for the evening.

Jaime Lannister is pissed off with the whole Frey business, old Walder is just a piece of shit, never able to keep a land or a castle and a true disappointment as a fighter.

Why the hell does he bother to listen to that wrinkled face, to travel up there just following Cersei’s crazy ideas about alliances and armies?

Jaime is not drunk, he simply pretended to toast, he’s nervous and worried and just want to leave at dawn.

The voices in the large hall are slowly fading away, one by one, but Jaime still cannot decide to go to his room and rest.

He needs something to pass the time, the Freys’ company is a real waste, furthermore thunders and lightings are dancing up in the sky and his horse doesn’t deserve to make a run under the rain.

He could get back inside to find some wine, but he knows the outcome, headache in the morning and stomach ache; his siblings are better at managing dornish or arbour, he never liked the taste or the effects a lot to get addicted like Cersei.

His sweet sister: if she were there, they could hide in her room until dawn, it has been a long time since they were together, she denies herself to her twin too often, others warm her bed.

A crow beats its wings from a branch, a pitch cry louder than the thunder; Jaime startles, the swish of air and wings has been so sudden, so close to his back that he felt the invisible touch of the black bird.

Crows are signs of bad luck, he returns inside, reluctantly, there is a bad smell, probably the servants are cleaning the hall, but his nostrils are trained to detect blood, the remains of the animals slaughtered for the feast or the ghosts of the Starks killed like scared pigs in that very place?

He’s a soldier, not a killer, he’s destroyed enemies and armies, not an unborn child in its mother’s belly, not a woman’s throat like a goat. His father let the Freys commit an act of abomination, killing guests after breaking bread with them and he can bear them only because Cersei has enemies all around.

It is the end, he fears a danger he cannot name, he’s tired, drained of strength after all the battles and the defeats and the deaths; Tywin’s dream of a dinasty shattered to pieces, Tommen the only remaining one, the child Jaime cannot protect, before, the little boy he wants to steal away in a safe castle in the middle of nowhere.

Frey has a bunch of kids, he’s repulsive in his way of treating women as broad mare only, Jaime thought his family was a mess but Freys are worse, that’s for sure. He’s refused the idea of his own children only because he fathered Cerseis’s and found easier to pass as the distant uncle or because he never had a chance to be a father starting from Joffrey? And now he’s got Tommen only; getting older, wiser, he hopes to be a better person for him.

The smell of blood is more intense from the rooms near the kitchen, a door is a little ajar and Jaime gives a look inside, a fire is burning and a pot is on, a young woman is tending to it, long dark hair and brown maid dress, she’s the one who’s given him a look while pouring Bronn’s wine, the one his mind has followed before old Frey came to his table and while speaking.

Bronn’s been rude, as usual, suggesting him to fuck the wine girl with his golden hand; his shame, his twinkling proof of being a cripple, a less than whole man. All women hate his stump, Cersei never touches it and forces him to hide it under the pillow when they share a bed.

He’s never betrayed Cersei, all for nothing, she took lovers, she slept with Robert, she refused all his pleas to run away, to build a life together and the final outcome were two shrouds and a scared boy king.

The girl studies him, a quiet smile on her lips, the flames plays on her face, her eyes aren’t defined, are they brown, green or grey? Eyes that spark a memory he can’t recall well, eyes that are unafraid to meet his own.

He backsteps, pulls the door with him and the girl follows his retreat, with a sad expression. Jaime stops before lowering the handle and looks at her for the last time.

Outside his chamber, he don’t care if Bronn’s grunts and female giggles are easily heard, he just want to lie and rest and pray for the sun to rise early, so they can leave.

Off his leather jacket and boots, he’s in his red tunic and breeches, barefoot on a think carpet and he sits legs crossed near the fire, staring at the flames.

Why was the girl cooking again so late in the evening? They had their bellies full, sure there are leftovers for breaking the fast in the morning, there’s no need to spend the night in the kitchen. Although the Freys are so many the kitchens probably are always open to feed whoever is hungry.

The heath from the flames is pleasant, Jaime takes off his tunic, Cersei chooses his clothes, she wants him in red since he become lord commander, no more pure white that seemed an unwise choice on a man who betrayed his wows of chastity. He’s still got his old under tunic, white, clean, to remember himself that there was something innocent in his life. once.

A rush of air, he turns suddenly, a small door, a passageway hidden into the walls creaks open, a small hand appears, then a pale arm and it’s the girl from the kitchen, holding a steaming cup, the flavour of some herbal tea.

“My lord, I’ve brought this for you.” she offers. “To let you rest tonight.”

The smell isn’t bad, he’s tempted to accept it, but he’s curious to know why she’s so interested in his sleep.

“I sleep well, thank you.”

“Don’t you believe me?” She pours a little into a cup on his table, drinks it and visible swallows it.

“Is Lord Frey worried about my sleeping?”

“No ser, but with all the noises from the feast you deserve a good night of rest.”

The girl’s eyes are quite transparent, a pool of light grey and Jaime is attracted to her face , he takes the cup and their fingers touches, it is a warmth he feels running up his arm, shoulder, head, it is intoxicating and relaxing already before drinking the tea,

Is she a witch? A child of the forest, with those strange eyes? Her skin is perfect, her lips are full and her bosom hovers over him, the roundness of her mounds and her erect nipples; a flush of blood to his groin, he’s never been interested in maids or whores, before, but this one’s different. Is Bronn right? Is she really hoping for his hand or his cock to fuck her? Does he know how to use a woman who is not blonde with green eyes?

He feels compelled to drink the tea, to taste it to the last drop and her eyes don’t leave his face. Is it a trick? A poisoning? A sincere offer? He don’t care, he’s tired, too tired, his eyelids are closing and he feels her breath on his face, her lips on his cheek, her hand over his heart.

\---

The girl leaves the knight’s room, he’s resting beside the fire, she’s covered him with furs from the bed.

In the golden light of the flames his features are relaxed, he appears younger than his age, like she first saw him all those years ago, blonde and shining in front of her family.

The epitome of a knight, a brave man, worth of honour.

She walks along the corridors and suddenly her head spins, she has to lean against a wall.

_She was sweating without a reason, her brain wanted to be in control but she only got worse, her legs trembled and the boy with blue eyes and a big smile was kissing her in a stable. He was clumsy and unexperienced and when later she felt him inside her there was pain and just a little pleasure._

She forces herself to be calm as still water in a pond, it’s not the right moment to think about boys.

The golden lion’s life is broken, she knows about his mistakes, now, she has learned the truths when she run away from her father’s severed head.

Sandor, Brienne, Tywin made her a woman grown, with their lessons, their example, their acts of heroism or misery.

Sweet revenge Arya’s taking tonight, deserved revenge for house Stark and she’s using her stolen face, no one had recognised her, the famous kingslayer can be the exception.

She’s felt his eyes lingering on the girl, following her moves across the hall, pouring wine to family and guests. He’s not drunk, she’s been observing him all evening, she knows he’s restless and awake and she needs him out of combat just for a little while,to complete the first part of her plan.

_The lord of the castle noticed every new beautiful maid and she soon fell under his attentions, he wqs sweaty and greasy in bed over her but he assured food for her family. Her lovely blue eyed boy died in one of the endless wars and she could not mourn him. She was one of the lord’s whores, she pretended to enjoy when he rut over her._

Arya concentrates on the boiling pot, she needs to cut the pieces she will use and bake the cake, to present it to lord Frey as her ultimate act of justice. Her own private justice, that kept her alive for years.

She had drunk a sip of his tea to show him it was not a poison, but she takes another one, with a counter effect, and she’ll be awake for a whole day.

_The knight was tall and young and she was washing clothes along the river when he approached, his horse needed to drink. He searched for her, the following day, and each day since, they found a place in an abandoned hut and made love with fury and passion._

The girl’s memories make her blood up and she needs a fast way to cool herself off, the knight could have been of use for a left hand sparring session, but now it is too late to change her mind.

The girl’s identity glued to the face she wears is growing inside her; Jaqen’s lessons, the danger to wear faces too soon for too long, when not trained enough. When she entered the hall she saw all the other maids, smiling and giggling, not caring to be groped a little by the guests. Some had already chosen a man for the night, that’s what the girl would do, too. Arya’s repulsed at the idea, the girl fights inside her and lead Arya to the knight’s table. Who smiled and cast lustful glances at his golden hair and golden hand, herself or the girl?

Better another way, better put in good use his body, the tea effect will pass fast, faster after a few good caresses and well placed touches. His face, his chest, his legs, his cock.

She’s not planned to have him, but plans can be changed, occasions grabbed; the girl likes men, likes fucking and she’s had more than one, a handsome knight is a good temptation, the face repeats over and over.

What a marvellous revenge against the Queen mother, to make the kingslayer betray his lover with her worst enemy. She feels flushed, her desire stronger, the double effect of acting against Cersei Lannister and enjoying her own knight is making her wet between her legs. It would be a real pleasure to see his face when she will reveal herself to him.

For now, in the kitchen, she grabs a knife and works on the bodies, she’s got two hours to complete her preparations.

\---

The golden knight is still lying in front of the fire, now less warm, so first thing the girl adds logs, then she kneels beside him and touches his hair; it’s no more a full mane, it’s shorter and spruced up with grey at the temples.

He lets out a soft moan when her hands leave his head, and another one when she briefly traces his jaw. A week’s beard, not soft enough, it will leave redness at the contact; where to connect, it’s up to him. He’s the experienced man, she’s swinging between the killing maiden and the girl who loves to fuck.

What a lovely duo they’d make, what a perfect couple of ruthless conquerors. If the old lion could have predicted her future at Harrenhal, he’d surely arranged her betrothal with his heir.

He stirs like a big cat - a lion - would do: his back arches and his head pushes back, baring his neck, the white skin a temptation she cannot resist, so she kiss and sucks and soon red marks, a necklace of rubies, will appear, at the right place to be noticed by everyone, come the morning. How would he explain getting laid like every other commoner? The former kings guard has lost his maidenhead for all his men to see, she imagines the laughs behind his back, the little smiles. He’s renounced his wows for a long time and few knows he’s been a father not once but thrice.

She smiles and is pleased of her artwork, but his arms are moving toward her, he’s noticed there’s a warm body close, the ribbons that ties the stump to the fake hand are loosen and the golden object clatters on the stones beside them.

She’s bold, a hand under his tunic, touching warm smooth skin, few hairs and she bets they’d be golden, everywhere.

He reaches her face and it’s strange and unreal to feel through someone else. Her head spins again, too many sensations at the same time and she looks around, it’s enough dark, she offers him water and uses the excuse to take off the face, putting it with care beside to his sword. She heard from Jaqen masks had to be carefully handled at the beginning and the impact of having someone’s else memories and feelings is hard. Her plan cannot be damaged by an impulsive act, she’ll be herself with him tonight.

Arya wants to feel her first time with a man; she’s explored her own body already, often, taught by the whores she met, by the maids of Lady Crane, by the faceless brothers and sisters who gave her some tools – shaped in various sizes – to break her maidenhead.

Doing it by her own hands has been useful, no fear, no shame, no regrets.

Back to the knight, fingers touches his nipples, pinching them to get a reaction; his eyes opens and their faces are so close then mouths are in contact. The kiss starts from her lips, wet with her tongue, she pushes him down, captures soon his mouth, his tongue, forcing herself into him and he’s not repulsed by a supposed lowborn girl, not surprised by her boldness.

Eyes close, his hands grabs her neck. No words are needed, she lowers her body on his, covers him, rips apart his tunic and frees the broad chest.

“Am I just a slab of beef for you tonight?” Bronn’s crude words, maybe she has heard them, maybe not, but he’s never been so easy with a woman, before. 

“And if you were?”

She keeps her face in shadow, away from candles and fire.

“You were giving me the look in the hall.”

“A Ser so handsome like you.” She’s purring, for the first time she’s seducing a man. This thing is out of her control, but she cannot stops it.

“My friend was quite vulgar.”

“I’ve heard worse.”

She does, she’s heard curing from a lot of people and sh’es grown accustomed, no more a blushing maiden like her sister.

Her hands go lower, past his stomach, over his breeches, reaching his crotch and caressing it in a seductively way she is not used to and at the same finds intriguing. It’s the first real cock she holds.

Jaime gasps, touches unexpected of foreign hands, his flesh reacts fast to the ministrations, he’s so starved for any affection.

“I don't care tonight.”

His arms, one good, one short, wrap her frame in a powerful grip, she struggles to breathe, he is not forcing, simply asserting that he wants her too.

He shuts out of his mind his story and his memories, this maid is different from the others, bold enough to express her desire for him.

The laces of her dress give way, she struggles to get free, he helps with ardour, when she is naked above him her skin is paler than the moon.

Northern girls are like so, not golden, not dark brown, their blood is ice and their skin is snow.

She tugs at his breeches and kneels back to free him from his remaining clothes, then sits astride his upper thighs while he massages her breasts.

“The way you look at me before, in the hall, my friend swore you wanted this.”

“My lord, House Frey’s hospitality is well known.”

He shivers at hearing her answer, she bents to lick sweat from his chest to his jaw and his erect cock brushes against her stomach. 

This girl has got the power to make him forget too many things, her warmth encases him and he kisses her roughly, using the stump to keep her close while his other hand goes lower, find wetness and swollen lips, a finger entering so easily. She moans, arches her back and gasps for air. 

She has spoken about house Frey where women were valued as servants only,

“Aren’t you one of Walder’s brood, are you? I’m not to face him tomorrow forcing me to marry you for being dishonoured.”

She laughs, it could be a new version of the red wedding, to see him return to the Queen mother with a young dangerous bride in tow, anger and rage from his sister, shock for the court, for Tyrion.

Not a sheep like Sansa once was, a true wolf ready to chase her own lion.

The face she is using belonged to a girl who quite drowned during a flood and never recovered, one who can pass as a northerner, he looks at her better.

“I’m too pale to be a Frey, my lord. I’m sure you know the North well.”

“Grey eyes and dark hair, there was a girl like you, once.”

He’s remembering her Aunt Lyanna, so she kisses him again, hard, to distract the kingslayer from his memories and it works, he rolls so she is under him, his legs between hers, both ready.

No time wasted, because if he thinks, he’s lost and so he’s inside her in a single thrust and she opens herself more, it’s not painful, nor bloody, she’s long broken herself; he’s softer and warmer than the tools she used, her hips soon meet his, a shared pace and his grunts of pleasure similar to those she’s listened before, hiding unseen in the dark corners.

The feeling of a living body, pinning her down, crushing her – he’s quite tall and she’s under average – pushes her toward a sensation of fullness that’s made of confused parts, a little pain inside her when he touches a deep spot, the tide coming and going over her pleasure pearl, a shiver when he gasps so close to her hear to focus all her hearing on him.

Jaime misses the usual reference points, he’s so new to this foreign body, so lost in exploring every hill and valley of it that he don’t realise his release is close. If the girl’s not satisfied her can worship her later – it’s fair each has a share of pleasure – he’s too busy now to avoid spilling inside her, so after a powerful thrust he pulls out, presses against her thighs and comes with a guttural low growl.

His forehead on her shoulder, to breath until his heart returns to a normal rate.

She has devoured him, her youth and vigour a good match for his pride; after decades with his twin only, it is a relief to know he can be a man, after all, with men’s need and without commitments that prevent him to lie with a woman.

How Bronn and Tyrion were right, it’s not like being trapped in a marriage, but if Cersei had lovers, he has been a fool to be the faithful one, getting nothing in return.

Lifting his head, he smiles at her flushed face.

“It has been quite a long time, if I’ve been too fast, I can make it up.”

Her look is quizzical, what is he offering? She’s lost the memories of the wine girl and her silence is read as a confirmation, he kneels between he spread legs, starting his tongue work.

He’s been very fast, beating her recovering; Arya has decided to reveal herself after he’s softened but his idea seems interesting, mouth, teeth, tongue, fingers working at her core in unison and she remembers a whore telling no woman could resist when a skilled man went down on her.

It is different than him inside her, but it’s good, maybe better, her cunt becomes morbid wax and she hears his soft laugh. Then waves of pleasure roll over her and for a few seconds she forgets everything; it is dangerous, she’s glad she’s reverted to her usual self, if the feelings with a man she likes but she don’t know enough to love is so strong, how it could be with feelings involved?

When he lifts his face, it’s wet from her fluids and he’s moving snake-style to reach her face again.

Arya’s faster, rolling both again to be over him, sliding her hands under his neck to reach the point she knows so well, the one that makes him numb and useless for a few minutes. Enough to tell him the truth.

His eyes snap open in surprise, but she caresses his face, soothing him. Strangely he’s not scared as he should be.

“Don’t worry, Lannister. It’s just temporary. But I cannot let you get your sword and use it on me.”

“Why?” Barely a whisper. He feels his tongue numb, too, he’s confused, searches for her eyes, wants to know why she has captured him without weapons. It’s a move that in close combat could make the difference between winning and loosing, life and death.

“You were afraid my father would force you to marry me. Well my father sure can’t, he’s dead. Can you guess my name now?”

His eyes widen, his mind is working but he has no clues, she has pity on him.

“I’m Arya Stark.”

Pure shock. Fast memories. Bran, the tower, Sansa, Joffrey, the red wedding. It happened here.

She’s Ned’s daughter and he’s going to pay the ultimate price for his family’s crimes.

Would the second woman he took to bed be his killer? What an irony, all for a misstep, once in a lifetime.

He had denied the similarity between Lyanna’s eyes and the girl’s and he’s a fool, the worst way to evaluate the adversary.

A seasoned warrior should not shiver but Arya feels the tremor in his body, notices the white in his eyes.

“I’ve got things to do. You’ll be well again in a quarter of a small candle and you will leave immediately with your men, never turning back. Swear you’ll leave!”

He’s confused but he nods. There’s nothing else to promise to a Stark who apparently has no plans to kill him.

“Good. I’m not Arya here, I’m no one.”

She moves from his body, still paralyzed.

A brief caress to his face, fingers lingering on his cheeks.

“I liked what we did. Maybe, one day..”

She whispers, before dressing up and carefully picking up the girl’s face; she’s no more Arya when the girl leaves the room.

Jaime can’t believe his eyes: confused by the sex and still unable to move, he recalls Varys’ tales of men able to change faces, the secret deadly assassins. It’s the first time he has witnesses and act considered extremely dangerous: those who saw a face changing never survived to tell. 

___

“Bronn! Bronn! Get up, we need to go.”

Jaime knocks at Bronn’s door as soon as he has regained full control of all his limbs and has packed up his things.

He pushes the door open, not caring the complains from his friend and the two girls, still in bed with him; Jaime wonders about Bronn’s endurance, he was tired enough after bedding just one.

Not a common girl, that’s for sure, one whose name and face he wants to keep a secret until, maybe, they’d meet again.

What would he do in such an occasion, he prefers not to think about.

“It is too early.”

“We have to leave. Meet me at the stables, I’ll get the others.”

Bronn arrives while Jaime is checking his saddle; the Lannister escort is quite ready, the men has been pushed out of their beds, as their postures suggest; he complains aloud.

“If you’d accepted the wine girl, you’d not be in such a hurry.”

“Who told you I didn’t? Now let’s go.”

Bronn can’t believe what Jaime is telling him, years around brothels and taverns and never once getting laid. But there are purple sucks and bites on his neck that he wears with a strange pride. What had the girl to be above every other? His knight is so in a hurry Bronn knows he’ll never reveal details now.

“Promise you’ll tell me everything later.”

“Deal done. Now mount! We don’t have all morning.”

His horse does a turn and Jaime spots the kitchen door, where the girl with dark brown hair is observing the stables. A brief nod from Jaime and Arya lifts her hand, then the golden knight leaves beside Bronn, giving a last look back under the gate, before pushing his horse to gallop and escape from the Freys.

\---

The news reach Jaime in a inn a few days from King’s Landing: all the Freys gone and a girl who wore Walder’s face, cut from his corpse.

Jaime imagines Arya’s triumphant smile while looking at her enemies fall one by one like rotten fruits from branches, her glistening eyes in the firelight.

She’s spared his life and he’s grateful, it’s a debt and he’ll pay it at the right time.


	2. Chapter 2

There is a new installment for this work, unfortunately I cannot make a series (I have mailed many times the assistance but I had too many bad news during last months) and I do not intend to make this work in chapters, so I'm publishing a new work under the title "I wanted to be a knight".

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069068


	3. Chapter 3

This is the last installment for this work, unfortunately I cannot make a series (I have mailed many times the assistance but I had too many bad news during last months) and I do not intend to make this work in chapters, so I'm publishing a new work under the title "White horse".

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653887

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on my other wips but I had to get this one out.


End file.
